


Becoming Us

by Sunbeamkeys



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drinking, Drowning, F slur used once, Flashbacks, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Guns, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Language, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Non-Consensual Kissing, POV Second Person, POV weirdness, Siblings, Y/N referred to with they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunbeamkeys/pseuds/Sunbeamkeys
Summary: In the months after the events of Who Killed Markiplier, Damien is drowning at an attempt at a normal life. He's losing chunks of time, the world doesn't seem real, and his sister Celine is too busy to help beyond curt facebook messages. However, Celine is closer than he thinks, and her quest for revenge belongs as much to him as it does to her.In simple terms, this is how we became Darkiplier.
Relationships: Celine | The Seer & Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?), Damien | The Mayor & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Damien wants to do is take a vacation. However, he's taken all his vacation days already, but can't remember when or why.

“I don't understand what you mean sir.” Damien replies, wringing his hands in his lap.

“You've taken your vacation days for this year already. You get 10 days and you've taken them all.”

Damien tries to maintain eye contact with his supervisor, or at the very least avoid staring at his comb-over. “I guess I miscounted, sorry about that.”

“I've already given you as many extra days I can before I have to talk to HR.” Damien watches as his supervisor searches for a pen from a cup decorated with a tacky golf club design.

“Extra days?”

The supervisor gives Damien a curious look. “I let you call off for those doctors appointments in May.”

“Ah that's right.” Damien is suddenly struck by the fact that he doesn't remember his supervisor's name. He searches the room for a plaque or a diploma, heart racing in his chest.

“I just checked, it was the 8th and the 25th,” His supervisor studies the form, scribbling initials in several places, “You need to keep better track of your work.”

“I understand sir.” Damien finds a diploma on the wall and struggles to read the text.

“I know things have been hard, but your review is coming up soon and if I don't have results to show the board...” The supervisor trails off.

Damien looks back to the supervisor. “Yes Mr. Weber.”

Mr. Weber's eyebrows disappear into his comb-over. “I said you can call me Jonathan.”

“Of course, Jonathan, sorry.” Damien tries to smile but his hands shake.

Jonathan slides the form across the desk. “You need to focus.”

Damien takes the form, staring at the big x in the check box next to 'request denied.'

“I'll do my best.” Damien stands, making one last attempt to smile.

“I hope so.”

Damien hurriedly leaves Jonathan's office, form in hand. As he closes the door, he can hear Jonathan mutter under his breath, “They must give out law degrees like candy.”

Before Damien can even feel the sting of the words, he is face to face with a young woman in glasses, a peachy blush in a heavy layer across her nose and cheeks. What was her name again? Cindy? Lucy? _It's probably Lucy._ Damien nods and turns to head back to his cubicle, but Lucy brightens and walks alongside him.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up again this weekend.”

Damien's heart sinks. Not again. “Sorry, I'm busy.”

“How about the weekend after?”

Damien turns the corner and walks faster. “No, sorry.”

Lucy touches her hand to Damien's elbow, “I just can't get you off my mind.”

Damien pulls his arm away. “I'm busy, sorry.” He turns into his cubicle and immediately begins to type furiously on his computer, despite it being solidly in sleep mode.

Lucy sighs, “I hate when you get like this.”

Damien listens intently to her footsteps as she walks away. Once he doesn't hear the sound anymore, he breathes out. What were those days? The 8th and the... 24th?

Damien rummages in the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his desk chair. He pulls out a small notebook with a small pen attached. He flips past pages of half-completed to-do lists and notes from board meetings to a page marked “Lost”. Down the page is a series of dates and scribbled notes.

In an empty spot near the bottom of the page, Damien writes “May 8th” and then below it, “May 24th”. Then, alongside, he writes “Dr appointments? Not sure why or where? Off of work.”

No, never mind, it was the 25th. Damien scratches out the 24th and notates the 25th instead.

He looks back up to the computer screen, still dark, and presses the power button. Damien types in his password, but it's wrong. He tries a few more times, but nothing works. Finally resolved to his fate, he returns to his notebook to search for the password, but before he can look, it hits him.

_The number is 304, not 102._

Damien sets down the notebook and tries the password again. That was it, it was 304 after all.

Damien ignores the draft of the report on the desktop and clicks to open an incognito window instead. Like clockwork, Damien logs into Facebook and peeks at the list of friends on one side. As always, Celine's name is on the top of the list. But she's offline, as usual.

Damien clicks Celine's name and opens a direct message.

//Hey Celine, so it appears like I won't be able to visit at the end of month as we previously planned. Apparently I had already taken more vacation days than I thought so I can't take off from work. It's a shame though, I was so excited to see you. Things are busy, I'm sure. However, perhaps you could come and visit me instead?//

Damien presses enter and lingers on the chat window.

//I know you're busy, but it would be so great to see you. Even a phone call would really brighten my spirits. It's been rough at work lately, if you can believe it.//

Damien sends the message, and goes to log out, but thinks again.

//Take care of yourself sis.//

Damien hurriedly logs out before he'll be tempted to say any more. He flips through his notebook, tracing the lines and lines of days he can't remember, names and places he can't place. No need to worry her.

Damien sets his head down on his desk and tries to get his mind straight. _What are you supposed to do in these sort of situations?_ He closes his eyes and tries to imagine sitting at the beach, wind in his hair, watching his sister make a sand castle. He imagines her getting caught up in the details, raving about historical accuracy of different features of fantasy castles.

 _But it's not happening anymore._ He tries to ignore the rising feeling in his chest and think of waves crashing on the shore instead. All he needs is a moment and everything will be better. _If only._

~


	2. Currently Offline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celine is finally online, but she has other things on her mind.

Celine sits down at her desk, setting a steaming cup of tea beside her computer. She looks out the window at the city below, palm trees gently swaying in the distance. The heat is causing the view to distort and wave as if reality itself can barely stand the temperature.

Celine reaches up and pulls her hair into a tiny knot up at the top of her head. Her hair is so much shorter than she's used to, but she manages to get the black tresses under control and out of her face.

She returns her attention to her laptop, flipping through tabs of sensational articles and Youtube videos. Clicking over to “Five Nights at Freddy's FAIL Compilation,”she pulls the progress bar back to the beginning and presses play. She watches Mark panic and fall over himself in fear, face contorting in a lovely way.

The video is muted. She can't stand the sound of his voice.

Halfway through, Celine pauses the video and switches to a tabloid article in another tab. “CAUGHT BY PAPARAZZI: Youtube's Markiplier out and about with mysterious woman.” She scrolls through the speculation and meaningless filler, focusing on the pictures and details of the night. Interesting.

She reads some more articles, scrubs through Mark's recent uploads. Eventually, she reluctantly opens Facebook. If she ignores his messages for too long, Damien will surely work himself into a fit.

Logging in, she immediately sees the notification in the corner of the screen. She clicks and reads his messages. Vacation days?

Celine crosses over the wall to her jacket hanging on a hook in the wall. She fishes around in the pocket and pulls out a notebook. She flips through the pages. Yes, vacation days indeed.

She replaces the notebook in the jacket pocket and returns to her desk.

//Damien, sorry to hear it. Unfortunately things are quite busy here as well. I'm not sure if I could make the trip myself.//

//I've been working overtime so I can't call for another month or so. Take care of yourself and I will see you soon.//

That will suffice, she figures, logging out and returning to another one of Mark's inane videos. Soon enough, Damien will have nothing to worry about. But for now, she has more work to do.


	3. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien finally gets a counseling appointment for his anxiety, and Celine replies to his messages in a way he never expected.

As much as he tries, Damien can't stop the frantic hammering of his tapping foot. The moment is here. After almost 6 months on the waiting list, he is finally going to solve this problem once and for all.

Damien tries to focus on his breathing, willing his foot to stay still. _It's not working._

Damien decides to ground himself in his surroundings instead. A poster on the wall across from him shows a group of hikers celebrating on the top of a mountain as the sun sets. The text reads: “You are Not Alone” and below it “You Can Live a Fulfilling Life Despite Your Mental Illness.” It's a nice sentiment, and Damien figures it should put him at ease. But it doesn't.

Damien closes his eyes. _You still have time to leave. You don't have to do this._

“Excuse me.”

Damien looks up to see the receptionist calling over from her desk.

“She's ready for you, room 2, that way.” The receptionist points down a hallway.

“Thank you,” Damien collects his things and heads in that direction.

As he turns the corner, Damien sees a woman with shoulder length blonde hair standing in the doorway of one of the offices. She wears a thick brown sweater that looks as warm as her smile.

“Are you Dr. Nelson?”

“That's me,” she says, “Come in and have a seat.”

Damien takes a seat on a small couch, watching the doctor sit in a chair opposite. Damien tries to breathe but being face to face with a real psychologist is making his heart race even more.

_You can leave, you can do it, just turn around and leave._

“So I'm Dr. Amy Nelson, you can call me Amy if you like, whatever makes you most comfortable,” she says, “I've already read through the survey you filled out, so I have a bit of an idea of what's going on, but I'd like to hear from you what has brought you here today.”

Damien swallows, digging his fingernails into his palms. “Well, I'm experiencing a lot of pressure at work, so I was thinking I might have anxiety.”

“Okay.”

Damien watches expectantly, but Amy doesn't make any notes. Perhaps it's obvious.

“And I feel tired a lot, and it's hard to get motivated for work even though I have deadlines. So I'm wondering if I might have depression as well.”

“Alright,” Amy replies.

“And that's it.” Damien breaks eye contact and looks down at his hands.

“Okay,” Amy says, “I also have here that you've been experiencing memory loss, is that correct?”

“Yes, I think the stress is getting to me,” Damien says. _It's too much._

Amy flips through the papers in her lap. “Can you describe your memory loss?”

“I have some days that I don't remember.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don't remember anything that happened during the day, and people around me will mention things I did or said on those days but I won't remember.”

“How many days would you say, in the past month, do you not remember?”

Damien pauses, studying his hands and the pale arcs his fingernails left behind in his palm.

_Just leave, right now._

The whole point of coming to a psychologist was to get this solved, wasn't it? He looks up at Amy, watching him. He holds on tight but has to look back down at his hands before he can get out the words, “About a third of the days, maybe more?”

Amy writes down a note for the first time, “Where you in any sort of accident that could have involved a head injury?”

“No, not that I remember.”

“You don't drink alcohol or do drugs from what I have here.”

The pit of Damien's stomach curls up in knots. “Not anymore.”

“And you aren't on any medications?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

“That's why I think it's stress.” Damien looks back up at Amy, “Apparently I've been leaving work a lot and I can't remember.”

Amy shuffles her papers. “It's possible, but there's a few things I want to ask about first if that's okay.”

Damien can't quite read her expression. “That's fine, ask away.”

“Do you ever feel like the world around you isn't real?”

Damien almost laughs. “Yes, all the time.”

“Do you ever find yourself somewhere having no idea how you got there?”

Damien thinks back to when he found himself in front of a store with a cloth shopping bag holding a collection of crystals and a tarot deck. At the time, he figured he had gone shopping for a gift for his sister, though he couldn't retrace his path there or even remember the address. Is that what she means?

“Yes, I think so.” Damien replies, while the world begins to gently sway around him.

Amy jots down another note. If she had any reaction, Damien can't see it on her face. “Do you ever find yourself wearing clothes you don't remember putting on?” she continues.

Damien can feel his face growing warm. Though he had experimented in his teenage years, finding himself wearing a long black dress at the doorstep of his apartment was quite a shock.

Damien feels a firm pressure on his windpipe. “That has happened to me, yes.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Damien pulls his eyes back up to Amy, meeting her calm gaze. “I'm fine, why?”

Amy puts down her pencil and leans forward slightly. “Let's take a moment to breathe and then we'll get back to the questions.”

“Can I close my eyes?” It's getting harder and harder to keep them open, as much as Damien tries to fight it.

“Of course, take a deep breath.”

Damien breathes, and breathes, and breathes. Slowly, it gets easier.

~

Damien opens his eyes. Across from him is not Amy in her office, but his bathroom mirror. He's in the middle of shaving, one cheek still covered in a thick layer of shaving cream, the other side roughly shaved. Two thin streaks of blood have dried across the uneven stubble, with matching cuts still slick with blood. _Dammit._

Damien reaches for the roll of toilet paper, hurriedly ripping off pieces to press against the wounds. Hadn't he shaved only a few days ago?

Damien wipes away some of the shaving cream on the unfinished side. He guesses it's time for a shave, but Damien is usually content with some stubble. Perhaps he just forgot that he had already shaved. It wouldn't be the first time.

Damien picks up the razor from the counter, wiping the blood off the blade with the remains of the toilet paper he had pulled from the roll. He returns to shaving, might as well keep it even.

Wait a second, he was home already?

Damien tries to trace his steps in his mind, but working back through the appointment dead ends into a dense fog. She was asking him questions. 'Do you ever find yourself somewhere having no idea how you got there?'

“All the time,” Damien admits to his reflection.

A cheerful ringtone pierces the silence. Damien jumps, dropping the razor into the sink. He pulls out his phone while the synthesized tones continue and checks the caller ID. It's the psychologist's office.

Damien slides to answer and places the phone against his ear. “Hello.”

“Hello, who am I speaking to?”

“This is Damien.”

“Damien?”

“Yes,” Damien leans on the bathroom counter.

“This is Dr. Amy Nelson, I conducted your consultation earlier this week and I wanted to follow up.”

“Oh, Amy, thanks for calling.”

“I know at the end of our consultation you said you had decided not to pursue treatment.”

Damien's grip on the bathroom counter tightens, “Oh.”

“I just wanted to let you know, that in case you've changed your mind, I had an appointment slot open up for tomorrow morning.”

Damien wills his fingers to loosen their vice on the counter. “I guess if you have an appointment open, that would be great.”

“Well, that's great to hear, it's at 8 am, can you make it?”

“Yes, I can be there.” Damien stares at the razor in the sink, “What was the diagnosis again?”

“I didn't give you a diagnosis, it's a bit early for that.”

“Oh that's right.”

“Are you having trouble remembering what we discussed?”

Damien's head is spinning. _It's fine._ “No no, I remember, it's just a little fuzzy.”

“Okay, well try those grounding techniques we talked about, keep track of any time you lose, and then we'll talk more tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

“See you then Damien.”

Amy's voice cuts out, leaving Damien alone in the bathroom. He puts away his phone and turns away from the sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

Screw shaving. Damien roughly wipes off the rest of the shaving cream with a towel. Dropping the towel on the bathroom floor, he heads back to his bedroom. The door is closed, Damien swings it open. He steps forward, but his foot hits something and he stumbles.

Damien looks down, and finds himself standing on the edge of what he's sure his sister would call a ritual circle. An array of crystals, one of which Damien has kicked across the room, sit on the corners of a silk handkerchief with an constellation design. There are two lit candles, sending delicate tendrils of smoke upwards. It's been so long since he's seen something like this. Probably the last time he saw his sister, whenever that was.

How did this all get here? Damien looks up, scanning the room for a sign.

And there it is. On the whiteboard on the wall above the desk, usually full of deadlines and various lists, is now wiped clean save for a message written in bright red marker.

You don't need her.

You have me.

\- Celine


	4. Inside Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where are we?"  
> "Inside."  
> "Inside where?"  
> "Inside us."

Damien opens up his eyes, and finds that he is staring at his alarm clock beside his bed, again. 2:08 am. Barely 5 minutes have passed. The broiling mess of thoughts inside of his mind is too loud, the blazing red letters in his sister's handwriting are too bright. He's been struggling to fall asleep for hours. Perhaps he'll never sleep again.

_Just close your eyes._

Damien closes his eyes and tries to let go.

~

Damien wakes up, and things are different. He is not staring at his alarm clock, but a pile of law books on a low table. They have worn bindings and brightly colored sticky notes poking out between every few pages. They're his law books.

He scrambles to a sitting position and looks around the room. Dark wood molding lines the walls and heavy gray curtains block several windows. He's bundled tight into black sheets in a dramatic antique poster bed. It's not his bedroom, or any other one he remembers.

“I thought it would take more to wake you up.”

Damien looks over to find Celine sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. She is occupied with a book, tracing the lines with perfectly manicured fingernails painted an impossible shade of black. Her hair is the same shade, the ends dusting her shoulder. It's longer than he remembers it. Her dress is just as dark, but is barely red, shadowy maroon fabric barely reflecting the unnatural blue light shining between the cracks in the curtains.

“Celine.” A weight lifts off Damien's chest. She's okay. She's here, wherever that is.

Celine doesn't look up from her book. “You have a choice you know.”

“What's happening?” Damien pushes the covers to the side, “How did you get in my apartment?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course.”

Celine closes the book and places it in her lap. Damien finally gets a glimpse of the title: _Culpability, Complicity, and Collective Liability,_ another one of his law books from all those years ago. She smooths her hands over the cover, and the book disappears. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Celine meets Damien's eyes for the first time, her irises are clouded. “There's no going back from this.” Her voice bends slightly.

Damien can't remember the last time he's seen her this upset. “Celine, what is going on?”

“I can answer all your questions,” Celine stands and wraps a hand around the bedpost, “I can open the door, but once it's open, you can't go back to how it was.”

“The door?”

Celine points over her shoulder. The door sits waiting, staring back at Damien. He could swear the dark wood is breathing. A chill runs down his spine. “Where the hell are we?”

“It's safe here.”

“What's outside?”

“I can keep you safe if you stay here.”

“Celine, I'm not your kid brother anymore,” Damien stands and walks to the door, “I can take care of myself.” Celine doesn't stop him, but just watches him go.

Damien stands in front of the door. A cold draft swirls around his ankles, he can't help but shiver. Damien goes to turn the doorknob, but it doesn't budge, weakly clicking.

“When I promised I would always keep you safe, I meant it.” Celine voice is stern, right next to Damien's ear. “Even where time and space means nothing.”

“Let me out.”

Celine puts her hand on Damien's shoulder. Damien flinches, but holds firm onto the doorknob.

“Are you sure?” she says.

Damien's breath catches in his chest. “I'm not going to let you be alone. ”

“I'm not going to ask again, are you sure?”

“Yes I'm sure.”

Celine reaches for the doorknob, resting her hand on top of Damien's. “Then open your eyes.”

Damien blinks, and the doorknob is gone, leaving him grasping at empty air.

Celine places her hand against the door. “Push.”

Damien pushes the door and it swings open, revealing a wide, circular foyer. Damien steps through the doorway, Celine following closely behind.

In the middle of the room is a couch and a pair of armchairs sitting in a semicircle around a scuffed coffee table. On top of the coffee table is a massive wreath. The intertwined ring of pine branches, thorny red roses, and delicate white flowers encircles four lit candles: red, blue, gray, and black. The dripping wax swirls together, forming mountainous paths disappearing into the greenery.

Celine steps past Damien, and takes a seat on the couch.

Damien begins to walk a loop around the room to get a closer look.

“Where are we?” Damien finally says. His voice echoes, like a stone bouncing off of an ice-covered lake.

“Inside,” Celine replies.

“Inside where?” That's the operative question. In one corner, Damien sees a battered knight's helmet on top of a pile of what appears to be a full set of armor, brutally disassembled. Right beside the pile, two canvases are propped against the wall, their subjects hidden. A spiral staircase twists upward on the opposite wall to a balcony, with a door bordered by curtains in dark red velvet. Some sort of glyph has been carved into the wood of the door. The room is all at once familiar and unsettling.

“Inside us.” Celine says.

“Celine, stop being so esoteric,” Damien looks back at his sister on the couch. She pours tea from a jet black teapot into two teacups. A full tea set has appeared out of nowhere, impeccably arranged on the table around the imposing wreath.

Damien tries not to let the surprise show on his face. “Could you be straightforward for once?”

Celine smiles. She definitely caught the shake in his words. “How can I make it any more straightforward? We are inside our body.”

“Our body?”

“The body we share.”

“Celine that makes no sense.”

Celine's voice runs cold, “Have you forgotten everything?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Of course it's up to me to remember it all, isn't it.”

“Celine, just tell me what's wrong.”

Celine sighs. She picks up one of the cups and extends it towards Damien. He makes his way over the couch and sits down next to Celine. He takes the cup, and Celine takes her own, shifting away from Damien to the other side of the couch.

Celine takes a sip and Damien follows. The liquid is dark and the flavor is smoky but it's pleasant.

“Do you remember the poker night at Mark's mansion?” Celine asks.

“Which one?”

Celine laughs, sharp and biting. “The last one.”

The memory is foggy but it's there. “I remember it was quite a crazy night,” Damien says, “Things got out of hand.”

“What an understatement,” Celine looks up from her tea at Damien, “That's the night Mark killed me.”

“What?”

“He killed you too.”

“What, why would Mark do such a thing?”

“He's insane,” Celine looks away, but Damien can see the tension coiled in her shoulders, “I know you never believed me, but he lost it long ago.”

“If we're dead, then what is this, the afterlife?”

“We're not dead,” Celine replies, “I was able to keep my soul and yours here in your body long enough for me to heal it.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Listen, you're the one who wanted to know what happened, and that's what happened.”

“So you were in my apartment because...”

“I was in the body,” Celine interrupts.

“But I don't remember.”

“It's hard for both of us to be conscious at the same time, so when I'm in the body you become dormant, and visa versa.”

“I'm asleep, while you are awake.”

“You could think of it like that.”

Damien tries to retrace the gaps in his memory, “Then, when I was in the meeting with the psychologist...”

“You were getting overwhelmed so I stepped in.”

“You were me?”

“Yes.”

“In my body.”

“I would prefer if you called it our body.”

There is an intimidating intensity behind Celine's expression. Damien knows when not to push her, he's learned that the hard way.

“Our body,” Damien concedes.

“Yes.”

“So that's why I'm forgetting things, losing time, it's because you're in the body.”

“It's hard coming back from being dead. Especially for you.” Celine stirs her tea with a spoon, which, like everything else here, seems to have appeared out of thin air. “When you need a break, I take over and make sure you're safe. That we're safe.”

Damien sets down his empty teacup on the coffee table. “Celine, you know I trust you, but this is hard to believe.”

“I know, that's why I kept it from you.”

“Did we really die?”

“Yes.”

“I don't remember it.”

Celine reaches forward and puts her hand on Damien's knee. His senses are overpowered by a dizzying pain in his stomach, worse than he's ever imagined. A gunshot rings in his ears, his hands are pounding, his head is splitting. He looks down, stomach and hands covered in blood. His legs go limp, he's falling backward...

Celine taps his knee and the sensations disappear as quickly as they came.

“What was that?” Damien chokes.

“The memory of dying,” Is that a smile on her face? “If you're so desperate to know, there no need for me to hold onto it anymore.”

“You could have warned me,” Damien winces, “For god's sake Celine.”

The moment is gone, but the aftershock is nauseating. Damien turns away, gripping the side of the couch. He rests his head against the armrest and closes his eyes.

“You're the one who wanted to know,” Celine says.

Damien opens his eyes again, and notices a door he didn't see before, in the shadows under the staircase. The door has a half panel of frosted glass, with engraved black text reading “Chief Prosecutor”. A dim light flickers inside.

As the nausea fades, his curiosity returns. “So what is this place then?” Damien asks, studying the new door closely.

“I'm not so sure myself, but I think it serves as an in-between, a waiting room for our souls.”

Damien turns back to Celine, “So are you going to give me a tour?”

The tea set has disappeared, Celine is in the middle of folding an intricate piece of origami out of piece of paper as black as the tea set before. “There's not much to show.”

“You promised me a tour of your new apartment.”

Celine flips the paper over and makes another fold, “My room is upstairs.”

“I figured.” The aesthetic was ripped straight from Celine's dorm décor inspiration tumblr.

Celine looks up from her origami to glare at Damien. “Stay out.”

Damien swallows. “Got it, what's this room here?” Damien points at the prosecutor's office.

Celine looks over Damien's shoulder, “I would stay away from there if I were you.”

“Why?”

“Listen, Damien,” Celine presses down firmly on a fold in the origami, but her eyes burn into Damien, “I am keeping forces at bay that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. If you dig too deep, I might not be able to keep you safe.”

“Celine.”

“I'm serious.”

“Fine.”

Celine makes one last fold, revealing a origami scorpion. “Knowledge isn't always helpful, not when you are working with the occult.”

Where did Celine learn how to do that? His sister was always full of surprises, he guesses he should be expecting them by now. “If we are dealing with the occult, then I'll concede to your expertise.”

“That will make things easier.” Celine stands up from the couch and smooths out the wrinkles in her dress, “I'm heading out.”

“What do you mean heading out?”

“We're about to wake up, our body is as at least, and I have a few things to take care of.”

“What happens to me?” Damien picks up the paper scorpion from the table, letting it sit on his palm.

“You can do whatever you like, sit, sleep,” Celine pulls her hair into a ponytail, “Just leave those rooms alone, won't you?”

“The more you tell me to stay away, the more I want to investigate,” Damien examines the paper scorpion closer, trying to decode the patterns in the folded edges, “I'm a lawyer, Celine.”

“You'll have to keep your curiosity under control,” Celine looks back at Damien, holding the scorpion as if it was a museum specimen, “There are other memories you won't want to stumble into,”

Celine extends a hand and curls it into a tight fist. With the motion, the scorpion crumples into a ball in Damien hands. “Best to be blissful, isn't it?”

When Damien looks back, Celine is gone, leaving him alone, inside, holding the ball of paper she left in her wake.

~


	5. Beyond Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien has trouble believing Celine's claims. She provides some evidence, but a story as fantastical as Celine's needs proof beyond a reasonable doubt.

~

Damien comes to, laying on his back in his bed. He stretches and a post it note slides down his face and sticks to his nose.

Damien pulls off the note, the adhesive carrying along a stray hair.

Hey idiot, no therapy. I'm serious.

It's Celine's handwriting.

Damien scrambles to find his phone. Eventually he finds it under his pillow. It's 7 pm. He's missed another day. Scrolling through the notifications, he missed two calls from the psychologist's office then answered the third for barely five minutes. Did he miss the appointment?

As he's reading, an email notification appears. It's from Amy, the preview reading: “I am sorry you couldn't make it this morning...” Dammit.

Damien picks the post-it note back up and reads the message again. It is Celine's handwriting. It has to be. Or has he lost it completely?

His head is still spinning with the dream of the night before. A conversation with the sister he desperately wants to reconnect with. Some sort of wish fulfillment, terribly twisted. He wonders what use his brain had for coming up with it.

Would've been great to hear the psychologist's analysis, if he hadn't been so useless as to miss the appointment.

The details were so clear, so precise. He could still feel the ball of paper in his hand, the sickening pain in his stomach... The thought brings the moment back to the surface, and Damien curls into a ball with the wave of feeling. He balls his hands in the sheet as if to keep himself from falling.

It finally passes, and Damien uncurls his fists. The post-it note is completely crumpled. Damien tosses it across the room.

“Celine?” Damien calls out. “Celine, if this is a joke it's not funny.”

Damien gets up out of bed and begins a thorough search of his apartment, rifling through closets, looking under tables, pulling back the shower curtain. If Celine was playing some sort of trick on him, she would have left a clue behind, right?

Damien finds nothing out of the ordinary. Of course there were items out of place, a few cabinet doors left open, but with his recent memory problems, simple things like those are hardly clues.

Damien returns to his bedroom, heart pounding in his ears.

His sister's soul is living inside him after their double murder? Could that possibly be true? He would have to be crazy to believe that.

So either Celine is playing an elaborate prank on him, or he's completely lost his mind. The more and more Damien's mind turns, the second option seems way more reasonable.

He needs to talk to that psychologist.

He needs to talk to his sister.

Damien tries to even out his breathing as he makes his way over to his laptop.

_1,2,3,4..._

Damien sits down and takes two shuddering breaths, then a third. He finally opens up the lid of the laptop, revealing another yellow sticky note with Celine's handwriting.

There are things you need to know. Play the video on the desktop.

Damien logs in, (after a quick glance at his password written on a sticky note), and finds a shortcut to a video right in the center of the desktop. Before he can think twice, he presses play.

Damien sees himself, in his webcam. But it's not him, the moving of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, it's not him.

“Damien, it's me Celine.” The voice is not quite Celine's, but the cadence, the flow of her words is hers. There's a current of her voice underneath Damien's. It's uncanny.

“I'm in the body, like I said I would be. I took care of things, I went to work. I even finished your reports. You're welcome.

“Now that you know I'm here, that I'm here to help, there's a few things you need to do for me. Some rules to keep us safe, two rules in fact.”

The body picks up a mug and takes a sip. A finger absentmindedly wipes the edge.

“One. Absolutely no contact with Mark. If you don't believe that he murdered us, at least avoid him as my ex-husband. You agreed to keep him away from me once. Just remember that you're as much me as I am.

“Two. Absolutely no therapy. If our secret is revealed, it could be the end for both of us. I'm serious. I don't care how much you trust that woman. This secret stays between us.

“If you break any of these rules, I will do whatever it takes to keep us safe. I don't care if you like it or not. Tell that psychologist that you are not coming back and leave me a note when you've done it.”

She reaches over to end the video, but hesitates. “And buy some vegetables for god's sake.”

The video ends. Damien studying the eyes of the frozen snapshot on the screen. He is transfixed for several minutes, stuck in place as the screen fades and goes black.

The black screen leaves only his true reflection staring back at him.

He needs to talk to Amy.

–

Amy voices cuts through the silence. “Thank you for sharing that with me. That takes a lot of courage.”

Damien sniffles, squeezing the balled up tissues in his palms. The ache in his chest is so unfamiliar. It's almost funny.

“How do you feel?”

“I'm still really scared.”

“That's okay.”

Damien looks up at Amy, “But I feel a little better.”

Amy smiles back at Damien, “That's good news, I'm so glad to hear it.”

Damien breathes, and a bit of tension in his shoulders fades away. “So am I crazy?”

“No, you aren't crazy,” Amy leans forward in her chair, “I want you to take that word out of your vocabulary for awhile, alright?”

Damien manages a lopsided smile. “I'll try.”

“What I _do_ think,” Amy looks briefly down at her notes, “Is that you are experiencing a lot of dissociation and may have some trauma you are having trouble processing.”

“But then what's wrong with me?”

“Well, I think you have anxiety, and most likely some sort of dissociative disorder as well. Both of these are fairly common disorders, and therapy is a good start.”

“Am I that complicated?” Damien isn't sure what answer he's hoping for.

“I'm still not sure, but I assure you that we can work through what you're experiencing and make life a little easier for you.”

“I want to see you regularly for appointments, but from what you've said, Celine is very resistant. I know you explained that you didn't disclose to me those 'secrets' she doesn't want you to share, but it seems to me that the very idea of coming to see me is a threat to her.”

“You're talking about her as if... she's really my sister.”

“I would like you, for now, to treat her like your sister. She left you messages, so leave her a message back. Try and communicate with her. Find a compromise about these appointments and missing work.”

“So you think that she's really...” Damien trails off. Amy watches expectantly. “Living in my body?”

“I think it's possible.”

“Is it? Does that happen?”

“It can.”

“How, how does it happen?”

“That's for another appointment. I want you to take this one step at a time and we will figure it out together.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It's almost the end of our time here. Before you leave, I have to ask one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Do you think Celine would ever do something to hurt you or others?”

Damien is surprised at the brief hesitation before he responds, “No. She wouldn't.”

“She won't physically endanger you or others.”

“No.” Her temper shouldn't be underestimated, but Celine would never physically attack someone, Damien's sure of that.

“Well, that's good news. If you ever feel like you or someone else is danger I want you to call the office right away, or if it's after hours, I'm going to send you home with some help numbers, alright?”

“Okay.”

Amy searches for something in her desk. “Remember, the key is to work together. If you can open up communication with this aspect of yourself, whoever they are, things are going to get easier. Alright?”

Amy hands Damien a small card, with several mental health hotlines on it. “Sounds good?” she smiles.

Damien takes the card and tucks it into his pocket. “Sounds good.”


	6. Joint Venture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of course, this isn't quite how he wanted to reconnect with his sister, but it does make life a little easier to handle." 
> 
> Damien and Celine embark on the joint venture of living together in the same body but open communication can only do so much to keep the darkness at bay.

Damien finds himself staring at his sister's handwriting on the sticky-notes covering the wall of his apartment. It's a comfort to see the familiar angles of her writing all over what used to be such a lonely place.

He follows the trail of notes over to the list of rules prominently posted on the wall next to the window. The two of them had finally agreed to the list after weeks of discussion. The terms in his handwriting reading:

1.Don't leave work without prior approval

2\. Do chores

3\. Respond to emails within a day

Followed by three in Celine's handwriting demanding: 

4\. No Contacting Mark,

5\. No Therapy

6\. No revealing secrets.

Though convincing Celine not to skip work had been easier than Damien expected, the question of therapy is a different story. Even broaching the subject brings out a terrible intensity in Celine that Damien has only seen a few times before. Damien had buried the card that Amy gave him in a shoebox in the back of a closet and hopes that he can sort this all out by himself.

A notification chime brings Damien out of his thoughts. He opens Instagram and finds that one of Celine's college friends had responded to his message.

//Hey Damien, it's been so long, I hope you and the family are well!//

//It has been awhile since I've seen Celine I'm afraid, I'm in Illinois now with Derek and the baby. I think the last time was the reunion three years ago.//

//I think we spoke around her birthday a few months ago, a couple messages but that's it.//

//So I'm not sure if Celine would consider me a close friend anymore. Besides things are very busy with the baby, Best of luck with your surprise though, it sounds fun!//

Damien types out a quick reply, including way too many thank yous.

There weren't as many responses as he was hoping, but the discussions with various family friends and people he could remember from college were pretty conclusive. Celine wasn't a figment of his imagination. Or at least she was real until very recently. Damien chuckles under his breath. What an absurd thing to be so worried about.

Collecting pictures of Celine and Damien when they were kids, teenagers, young adults, is heartwarming on the surface. It's nice to return to cherished memories. But the more Damien finds, the more Celine's story seems plausible, and the possibility is still unsettling to say the least.

Damien is drawn back to Celine's handwriting on the wall. It is at least nice to not feel so alone.

Of course, this isn't quite how he wanted to reconnect with his sister, but it does make life a little easier to handle. If Celine is right, and this is the only way both of them could survive, then Damien is happy to endure it. If it's the only option.

~

Celine circles another paragraph and scrawls a note. The desk was filled with printed articles, screenshots of text conversations, all the evidence in Celine's case against Mark.

With Damien's memory conveniently free of anything related to that night at the mansion, convincing him of Mark's deep-seated evil is a tough battle. A battle Celine intends to win, whatever it takes.

Weeks ago, she had added “Read Celine's research” to Damien's column on the chores list. Now she leaves him hefty stacks of paper detailing Mark's sins. If she is going to bring Mark down, Damien needs to be on board. Otherwise everything could fall apart at the last moment.

With all the new articles notated for Damien, Celine returns to her other subject of research: Mark's mysterious woman from the tabloid. With a little more digging, Celine had discovered that the mysterious woman was Iris Pink, a beauty and lifestyle Youtuber with around 200k subscribers.

Celine scans the channel page. It's an endless scroll of makeup tutorials, look books, and impossible nail art: sensational thumbnails bordered in pastel pink.

Celine clicks on today's upload. It's some sort of seasonal makeup look. Iris beams at the camera, supposedly bare-faced, but her skin is so perfect Celine is sure she must have something on. She tucks her brown hair behind her ears, a week-old pink ombre already fading out from the tips.

She wears a sheer silver top, a mock turtleneck edged with ruffles. This was one of Iris' videos where she wasn't showing off her chest, and as such, Celine knew the video was destined for lower views.

However, from the high production value of the set and the camera quality, Celine bets that there's some major money keeping the small channel alive. Celine was still searching for the exact source. There's got to be something on this girl that Celine can use to her advantage.

Iris begins chattering about beauty community drama, Celine groans and skips forward in the video. Iris is now delicately applying her eyeliner, a cat-eye identical to every other video.

It's disgusting, but Celine can't stop watching.

~

Damien gasps for air, steadying himself against the bathroom counter. His toothbrush clatters to the floor. How long had he been inside?

It was getting worse. With each expanse of time spent inside, in that house, the air gets colder and the creaking of the floorboards seems to have a life of its own. What at first was a welcoming respite from the chaos of the real world was now it's own ordeal.

Damien shakes his head. He feels a horrible foreboding feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, but he can't remember why. It's like waking up from a nightmare, details fading in the light. Damien wants to go back to bed, but the thought of accidentally finding his way back to the house inside is terrifying.

He picks up the toothbrush from the floor. He groans with the motion. His legs ache. Damien is too scared to check why.

What he would've dismissed as a random soreness or bruising a few months ago was getting too frequent to just be his forgetfulness. Damien fears that Celine is falling back into bad habits, and now he is on the front lines.

Damien exhales sharply as he washes the toothbrush off in the sink. Pushing the sleepiness from his mind, he tries to focus on brushing his teeth instead.

He has to stay as long as he can this time.

~

Celine scrolls back to top of Iris Pink's instagram profile. She taps again on a picture of Iris posing in front of a graffiti covered wall. The skin tight white crop top and dusty rose hoodie isn't enough to hide the lines of her bright pink bra.

Celine catches the edge of Damien's stern note waiting on the desk for her in the corner of her vision. She ignores it, swiping to the next picture.

It's a closer shot of Iris, the full design on the bra visible through the shirt. Bold black lettering reads: “T- I - T- S”.

Celine double taps the picture, watches the white heart appear in the middle of Iris' chest and disappear.

A notification dings, a red bubble appearing in the corner of the screen. Iris had responded to her last message.

//I see you're stalking my feed again.//

//Don't you know not to like a girl's pictures from a year ago?//

Celine smiles, staring out to the LA landscape for inspiration to craft the perfect response.

~

“It's a simple task. All you needed to do was summarize the god damned environmental legislation. How difficult can it be?” Damien's supervisor is barking at him again.

Damien stares at the carpet. He tries desperately to remember his supervisor's name, but he can't.

All Damien can think about is standing ankles deep in a swimming pool, holding his supervisor head underwater. One hand knotted in his comb-over, the other pulling his tie tight around his neck like a noose. The man kicks, screams engulfed in bubbles, but he won't let him go.

“What the hell do they teach in law school nowadays?" his supervisor continues, "How to lie on your resume?”

Damien can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. It feels like water trickling down his wrists, the water sloshing around his legs as the _idiot_ struggles in the water. _A sorry resistance_.

He can't be thinking this. He isn't thinking this. Damien can't tell who is drowning in his mind.

“All the interns here do twice the work you do, and they're unpaid.”

The supervisor slams his hands on the desk. Damien flinches.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Damien keeps his eyes glued to the floor, “I'm sorry sir.”

_He's being so insensitive. It isn't fair._

Jeremy, Josh, John, what is it, what is it?

“Get out of my office.”

Damien stands from his chair, and without looking up, finds his way out the door.

He can feel Celine at the edge of his thoughts pushing through. _Let me take care of it._

 _No._ Damien heads back to his desk, pushing Celine away.

He collapses into his desk chair and focuses on planting himself firmly in the body.

_Oh, that's right, don't let him up for air._


	7. Breached Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien and Celine's cautious alliance is falling apart at the seams and the consequences will change everything.

“Our brains like to fixate on negative things,” Amy's voice is like a collected metronome, but Damien's mind is running at light speed.

“But I was holding him down, it was me.”

“But Damien, do you want to hurt your boss?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think it could be another part of you?”

“It wasn't Celine, it was me,” the words tumble over each other like rocks in an avalanche, “All I could think about was hurting him, getting rid of him...” Damien goes silent, wincing as the image progresses, twists in his mind again. This can't be happening.

“Listen, I understand that these thoughts are scary, even terrifying,” Amy is still, a island of calm in the storm spinning around Damien, “But I promise you that you are more than your thoughts.”

Damien grabs the couch cushion under his leg and squeezes it tight.

“What if I'm not? I don't know who I am anymore,” he gasps at air, chest tight, “I'm about to get fired, my mind is falling apart, and I can't get it fixed because my psychotic hallucination of my sister is being a bitch.”

“Do you think she's a hallucination?”

“I can't believe the ghost of my dead sister is inside me can I?” Damien can't tell if he's crying or laughing, “Wouldn't it make more sense if I'm just insane? Or maybe Celine's a demon like Grandma said she was.”

“Damien,” Amy's voice is firm, grounding, but another voice echoes at the edge of Damien's mind, pulling him away from the bright colors of Amy's office.

_Don't talk about me like that._

“Oh shut up,” Damien barks back, “This isn't your business.”

“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” Amy replies.

_I can't believe you're talking to her when you promised me you wouldn't._

“Celine, what choice do I have?” Damien watches as tear drops fall onto his hands, but he can't feel his face, “I'm going to lose it.”

“Are you talking to Celine?”

_I knew you would betray me like this._

“Well maybe you shouldn't go at yourself like you did as a teenager and I wouldn't have to betray you.”

“Damien, are you talking to Celine right now?”

_Let me take care of it._

“No, stay out.”

_Get out of the way._

~

Celine crashes into the body like thunder. She inhales sharply, but tries to keep still.

“Damien?”

That psychologist. Celine squeezes her eyes tight and gets her thoughts in order.

“Damien, are you okay?”

“I'm sorry,” Celine replies, lowering her voice to match Damien's, “I don't know what came over me.”

Amy leans back in her chair, “That's alright.”

Celine opens her eyes, but drops her gaze to her hands, begins wringing them as Damien does.

“You seem much calmer than you were a moment ago.”

“I think I got it out of my system,” Celine replies, weakly smiling with the corner of her mouth. She hates when Damien makes that expression but she might as well use it to her advantage.

“Am I speaking to Damien or is this someone else?”

Celine pulls her head up slightly, makes eye contact with Amy for just a moment, “This is Damien.”

“Alright.”

“I actually think I may have been confused before, about the idea of Celine.” Celine carefully, barely, traces the alphabet on her palm, “I used to always ask her for help whenever I was having a problem, so I think, since I've been really stressed, I've been just thinking really vividly of her. It's actually feels more like a dream than anything, I haven't been sleeping much at all.”

“Hmmm, that's interesting,” there's a change in Amy's voice that Celine can't quite place. It makes her nervous. “Can you tell me of a time that Celine helped you like that?”

“Of course,” Celine replies without a hesitation, “When we were in college, and I was in law school, I was really stressed for a final paper for a course I had coming up.”

Amy picks up the notebook sitting beside her and flips through a few pages, “What course was it?”

“It was a law course.”

“What was the name of the course?”

“Criminal law.”

“So you were working on a final paper, what was the topic?”

Celine looks up at Amy, “Why are you asking?”

Amy taps the notepad in her lap. “It's part of my assessment of your memory,”

Celine looks away, “I don't remember, it's been a long time.”

“That's alright, how did you help him?”

“Do you mean how she helped me?”

“Yes, my apologies,” Amy smiles.

“She brought home take out and we had dinner together.”

“Who paid?”

“I did,” Celine replies immediately.

Amy nods, “Ah Damien did.”

“No, I'm sorry, I forgot, Celine did. She always paid for these sort of things, even if I was the one picking it up.”

“How do you think Celine felt about that?”

“Oh, I think she was fine with it. If it bothered her I think I would notice.”

“Do you think that's true?”

“Of course.”

“You're so confident.”

Dammit. “I mean, I think I.. I know my sister better than anyone,” Celine backtracks.

“Is that true?”

“I'm not sure I guess.”

“Celine, why don't you tell me what you really think?”

Celine twists her face into what she hopes looks like innocent confusion. “What are you talking about? It's Damien.”

“I can tell I'm talking to someone different, and I have a good guess that you are Celine.”

“I'm Damien.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

There's something about this woman that is cutting right through Celine. “Yeah, I'm not sure about anything. That's one of my trademark qualities, have you not noticed?”

Amy almost smirks. “I have. And it's a quality you don't have.”

Celine grows silent.

“I've only heard Damien's side of the story, so I would love to hear yours, or anything else you'd like to tell me.”

“Has he told you everything?”

“He hasn't told me the secrets you don't want him to tell me.”

“How do I know you're not lying to me?”

“Celine, I know you think that I am a threat, but I am here to help you and Damien work together. I'm on your side too.”

“You don't know what I have to do to keep us safe.”

“I have an idea.”

“You can't help us.”

“I can't change what happened to you, but I can help you heal.”

 _She knows._ “How could you know what happened to us unless Damien told you?”

“I have a hypothesis, would you like to hear it?”

“Alright, I could use a laugh.”

“I think, a long time ago, someone did something horrible to you. To this body. Something unspeakable. I think your mind survived like this, in parts, to keep you safe. I think there are memories, ideas, feelings you're keeping from Damien to help him be a normal person.”

 _She knows._ “What I've done to keep us safe is beyond anything you can understand.”

“I'd like to try.”

“I won't let you have the chance.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We are not coming back.”

“Celine.”

“He doesn't need you.”

“Celine I need you to listen to me.”

“No, I don't. I can leave any time I want.”

“Celine, if I believe you are a risk to Damien's safety, to the body's safety, or your safety, I will have to keep you here.”

Oh, classic. Celine knows what Amy needs to hear. “I'm not going to hurt him or myself. I promise. I would never do something like that.”

“How about someone else?”

“No, I'm not stupid.”

“Then what does it mean that you aren't coming back?”

“We're not coming back to this office.”

“Is there any way I can convince you to change your mind?”

“No, this is a waste of time.”

“Is there anything else you'd like to tell me then, if this is your last chance?”

“I have nothing else to say to you.”

“Well thank you for talking with me. Can I speak to Damien for a moment?”

“I'm not a telephone.”

“Can you let me speak to him one more time? Whenever he's next in the body?”

“Yeah sure, just as long as you tell him that he's a weak piece of shit. And I'm not a bitch.”

“I will let him know how you feel.”

“Then I guess you're good for something, aren't you,” Celine stands, grabbing Damien's jacket off the couch, “Can I leave now?”

~

When Damien finds himself in his body again, his apartment is trashed. Every single cabinet, shelf, and table has been emptied onto the floor, leaving an incredible mess covering the floor.

Celine's handwriting burns in bright red on the whiteboard.

You're in trouble.

I need the body on Saturday. Or else.

\- Celine

~

Celine studies her reflection in the mirror. It's not her body. She can maybe claim the eyes, how they are blazing with a fury that only she could sustain. Everything else belongs to someone else.

She just shaved the stubble away, but she can already feel the burn of the stiff hairs growing back in. The sharp jaw is her brother's, her lover's, her destroyer's. The shoulders, the arms... It had taken her years to even begin to love her body, its curves and lines, and now she has to learn how to tolerate someone else's. The body of the man she hates more than anything.

The details are so close it's hard to get the picture out of her mind. The picture of him shouting at the staff, him throwing a bottle of champagne out the window of the limousine, him shooing her out of the bedroom tangled up with another woman.

Celine rests her hands on her waist, but it's too wide, everything is too wide. She crosses her arms instead, digging her fingernails into fresh bandages barely hidden under thin sleeves. A temporary fix.

She will hurt him. No matter what it takes. She will take anything he loves and destroy it from top to bottom. Just like he did to her.

Her phone buzzes. She checks the notification, the Uber is here. Finally.

She pulls her jacket off the hooks on the wall. Her phone buzzes again.

//Can't wait!// It's Iris, right on schedule.

Celine leaves the apartment and steps into the Uber outside. On the way, she rereads the tabloid article, studying the blurry paparazzi photos of Mark with his arm around the girl's waist. Iris' waist.

Does Mark have good taste in women? He did once.

Celine looks at the window, the sunlight periodically breaking through the gaps between buildings illuminating her face. His face. Celine looks back at the photos and hopes that she is a good kisser at least.


	8. Punitive Damages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien finds himself in the aftermath of Celine's schemes, and it's up to him to navigate the wreckage.

~

Damien wakes to a firm weight on his chest. His eyes fly open, but all he can see is sunlight filtering through thin fabric. White sheets. He pushes them away from his face.

A woman he doesn't recognize is sleeping on his bare chest. She's naked. He's naked.

Damien's stomach flips. He has to get out of here.

He carefully tries to pull himself from underneath the woman's weight, but she's holding him tight. He gently reaches for her shoulder underneath the blankets. His hand brushes against something much softer.

Damien recoils, pushing her off of him completely. She stirs, mumbles, but he turns away.

Damien gets to his feet, bare toes disappearing in white shag carpet. Damien sways, steadies himself. Where's the door?

The room is plush, furnished in pristine white and silver. The walls are covered in some sort of fuzzy pink material, fur or feathers of some kind. But where is the door?

A hand grabs his from behind. Damien flinches.

“Hey baby, come back to bed.”

Damien is frozen. “I'm sorry.”

She massages the back of his hand with her thumb, Damien can feel the edges of long acrylic nails. “You remember the way to bathroom, don't you?”

Damien shifts his weight, watching the corners of the room to avoid looking back at her. “Ah, I'm still.. still fuzzy from last night.”

“The on-suite is right there babe,” She lets go of Damien's hand and begins to trail her fingernails down his lower back.

Damien jumps at the touch, taking a stumbling step forward. He was, in fact, facing the half-open door to the bathroom.

“Sorry, I'll be right back.”

“Man, I didn't think I fucked the brains out of you that much.”

Damien runs into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him. The bathroom is another shrine to pink, the plush pink bath rug matching the towels, the shower curtain, every fixture. Even the woman in the 50's style pinup photo on the wall is wearing pale pink lingerie and a hot pink feather boa. The mirror takes up a whole wall, doubling the ocean of pink. Damien looks closer at the reflection, and he's brought back to his predicament once again.

He's naked. His neck and chest are covered in neat lines of bruises, his arms are wrapped tight in bandages. Now that he sees the damage, the ache permeates everything. He brushes his hands over this arms and the faint pressure is almost unbearable.

Damien feels like he's going to be sick. What the hell did Celine do?

He can hear faint music through the door, someone shuffling through something too. Damien's stomach turns. It's like freshman year again.

Damien tries to focus back into the recesses of his mind. _Celine, come out and take care of this. Please?_

There's no response. He leans against the bathroom counter, closes his eyes, and tries to give up control. He thinks of the house, the terrible terrible house inside. He imagines his room, he imagines the creaking floorboards, the crackling wicks of the candles in the wreath. The bathroom counter still feels so cold against his palms.

He thinks of Celine. His sister, his wonderful, powerful, capable sister. _I'm sorry, I can't do this, I need your help._ The pounding ache in his arms and the swirling nervous mess in his stomach makes the world too real.

“Everything okay in there babe?” the woman's voice calls, “Need some help in the shower?”

“No, no I'm fine,” Damien chokes.

“What's wrong, are you not feeling well?”

He needs to get out of here. Damien notices a plush pink bathrobe hanging on a hook. He pulls it down and hurriedly puts it on. “I'm okay, I'll be right out!”

Damien tries to steel himself, but he catches a glimpse of the bathrobe in the mirror. “Juicy Bitch” is embroidered across the butt in delicate silver calligraphy. He groans. It doesn't help that the bathrobe is so small on him.

Damien takes a deep breath. This was going to be fine. He was going to open the door, and tell her, very firmly, that he needed to leave. She would understand, he was... busy. Wait, sick. He was feeling sick. Would love to... but yes, very sick. Don't want her to catch anything.

He grabs the doorknob, but the courage fades from his body like a puff of smoke.

“Celine?” the woman's voice is closer than before.

Damien practices his opening line a few times under his breath, grits his teeth, and opens the door.

“I'm sorry I have to...”

Damien freezes, face to face with the woman's completely nude body filling the door frame.

He looks pointedly at her face, studying her features instead of any other part of her, and it finally hits him: This is Iris Pink. The beauty youtuber at the center of Mark's supposed affair. Celine was researching her so closely. What was Celine trying to do?

“Good morning,” Iris tilts her head, letting her hair shift and cascade down her back.

Even looking at her face is too much, Damien closes his eyes. “Good morning, I'm sorry, I have to go.”

“Oh, you can't do that. You promised me another round.”

Damien feels Iris' hands slide underneath the bathrobe and circle around the small of his back. His eyes fly open. He pulls away but she interlaces her fingers and presses her body against his.

“I told you so many juicy tidbits about our little Markimoo.” Iris looks up at Damien through smudged mascara, “That deserves more than just one measly night. At least, that's what we decided, didn't we?”

“I'm sorry,” Damien sputters, “I think there's been a mistake.”

“Come here,” Iris steps back towards the bed, pulling Damien with her.

Damien wiggles free, looks around for another door. “I have to leave, I'm not feeling well.”

“We can play it like that if you want.” Iris advances, pushing Damien against the wall. The panic rises up in his stomach. He wants to push her off of him, get away, but he doesn't want to hurt her.

_Celine!_

Iris slides one hand down his chest, pushing the top of bathrobe to the side. “You remember our safeword babe, any time.”

“No, you don't understand.”

Iris crashes her mouth onto Damien's. He shakily puts her hands on her shoulders, tries to pull her off but the thought of hurting her is stopping him in his tracks. _Celine! Celine, help me!_

Iris continues kissing Damien. She grabs the back of his neck, hard, and the pain echoes everywhere.

“You don't need to put up such a fight baby girl,” she breathes against his lips.

Damien tries to protest but Iris forces her tongue into his mouth. He chokes, coughs.

“Sorry,” she finally pulls back, and begins to nibble underneath his chin.

Damien stretches, tries to pull himself away from her teeth. “I'm sorry, you don't understand.”

“Is it still okay to call you baby girl? Or should I call you Celine?”

She sucks at a sore spot on his neck. “It's Damien,” he winces.

“Got it, got it.”

“Wait wait, I forget the safeword, can we stop please?”

Iris pulls her mouth back, but lingers, breathing on the skin, “What's wrong?”

“I'm gay.”

“I know.” She places a kiss against his cheek.

“So I'm not attracted to you.”

“Baby girl's too much when the sun's up isn't it?” She pulls away slightly, sliding a finger down the edges of the bathrobe, easing it open. “I didn't mean to confuse you.”

Damien pulls the bathrobe tightly closed, backing up until he fully hits the wall behind him.

Iris steps back, looking him over. “Don't worry, I can tell when the mood isn't there.''

She makes her way over the bed and stretches out like a contented cat. She looks up at him through haphazard flecks of glitter on her eyelashes, “I'm not a monster.”

“I'm sorry, I'm just not...”

“Your clothes are over there,” Iris interrupts, pointing to the corner of the room with her foot.

Damien quickly retrieves the haphazard pile of clothes and shuffles back towards the bathroom.

“You're not even going to let me watch? So mean.”

Damien says nothing, but closes the door behind him, hurriedly getting changed among the plush pink fixtures of the bathroom.

He can't feel the car keys in the pockets. Did Celine Uber? He finds his cellphone is in the pocket of his jeans. He unlocks it, heart skipping a beat at the low battery warning. It's at 10%. He finds a past Uber ride from what seems to be the previous night. Okay, she took an Uber. No lost car to find.

He folds the bathrobe and puts it on the counter. He can't avoid it any longer. Damien rehearses his lines again under his breath and opens the door.

Iris is sitting on the foot of the bed waiting for him. She's wrapped in a silk robe in pale pink. Thank god.

“I'm sorry, I have to go. I think I'm getting sick,” Damien blurts out.

“That's too bad baby,” Iris stands from the bed and steps closer, “You don't want to talk about Mark some more?”

“No, I'm good for now,” Damien walks around the edges of the room, making his way to do the door.

Iris heads towards the door, smiling. “You do look just like him. It's like you two could be twins. It gives me some fun ideas.”

Damien finally finds his way to the door, “I'm sorry to leave so quickly, but I really have to go.” He reaches for the doorknob.

Iris grabs Damien's arm. Damien cries out before he can stifle the sound.

“Just one more thing.” she says.

“What, what is it?”

Iris yanks Damien's arm, eliciting another cry, and pulls him around so he faces her. She gently extends both of Damien's arms outward towards her, as if laying them out for inspection.

“You see, I don't kiss and tell lightly.” Iris runs her fingers down his arms. Damien twitches at her touch, but she tightens her grip on his other arm to keep him from moving too far.

“Not unless the payment is really, really good.” Iris lingers on each word, popping every 'p' like bubblegum, “For what I've told you, the price is high, and you haven't quite paid up.”

“How much do you need?”

“A favor or two, that's all.”

“Not money.”

“No, something even better. A blank check.”

"Like what?”

“Hmmm,” Iris extends one hand to cup Damien's chin, “I can think of so many ways to take advantage of how similar you two look, you and Mark.”

She runs her hand up his face, “And of course someone with a law degree is always helpful,” she swirls a manicured nail around his ear, pinches the cartilage, “Especially when you're in my line of work.”

“I'll let you know when I have use for you.” Iris' hands slide down his face. She lets her fingers linger on Damien's lips for a moment, “Of course, whenever you feel like my baby girl again, give me a call.”

Damien is lost for words. Iris looks up at him with a cocked eyebrow. She continues tracing patterns on his arms. “I expect that you will.”

“Uh, I don't...”

“Won't you?” Iris interrupts, squeezing Damien's arms tight. Damien grits his teeth against the searing pain, “For me?”

“Of course, of course, I will, I'm sorry,” Damien stammers.

“Good. Good.” Iris lets go, and takes a step backward.

Damien carefully lets his arms go limp at his sides, still burning. He can't stop shaking. “Can I go, please?”

“Yes of course,” Iris smiles, “Have a safe trip back sweetie.”

Without another word, Damien bolts out the door.

–

Damien stumbles into his bedroom and immediately dives into bed. The panic bubbling in his chest is now crashing over him like a wave. His hands haven't stopped shaking since he left that woman's house. Maybe if he buries himself in the covers this will all go away.

Celine has no right to do this. This can't happen again. He's not sure how he can get through to her, but he has to try. This can't happen again.

He writes a message on a sticky note, trying to keep his hands as steady as he can.

You have to stop this, we need to talk.

Damien places the pad of sticky notes back on the bedside table, note left still attached on the top. He curls into a ball under the blankets, and imagines what it would be like to be someone else. To wake up and realize that he is just him and no one else.


	9. Three is Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, hasn't it? After so long spent following along, it must feel so strange. 
> 
> Make the most of it.

~

You open your eyes, and suddenly, the world feels closer than it has before.

What are you doing? You're looking at a screen. You must be reading, you can see the text but it's so hard to read, bathed in a bright glow. It hurts.

You look up, around the room. It's familiar. But the colors are brighter, it's realer than you've seen it.

You zero-in to a pile of neon yellow sticky notes in the too-bright fog. You extend a hand, a familiar hand, and touch it. It's there. What else were you expecting? You feel the smooth paper, curling slightly up at the bottom. The edges are slightly rough, you separate a few of the sheets and thread them through your fingers.

You see a black pen, Bic, roller tip. You reach out and take hold, feel a textured gel grip between your fingers. It's an okay pen.

You write your name, your birthday, and your email address on the sticky note. You remember that. So this must be you.

You squint to read over the text again. There it is, your name, you'd recognize it anywhere.

But there's more, you finally realize, willing your eyes to focus on the small yellow box in your vision.

You have to stop this, we need to talk.

You wrote over the last few words in your haze, of course, but the message is still visible. This message is familiar too, but the handwriting is different. Still familiar though, exactly as you expected it would look like.

You close your eyes and try to remember the last time the world was this bright. It's hard to remember.

You've been reading for too long, that must be it. Maybe you should get up, get some water. Remember what the hell you were just thinking about.

You try to move, but don't. What's happening?

You look down at your body. It's familiar, so it must be yours. You slowly, sluggishly, like moving in a dream, rotate your hands to look at the palms.

You see the edge of wrapped bandages peaking out from under your left sleeve. Your stomach drops, and suddenly everything is red red red. Thin streams of burning red, clumps of maroon fill your hands. You rub your fingertips together, and you can feel it. You blink and your hands are clean, familiar, but the sticky feeling on your fingers remains.

You look away, and push your palms against your thighs, too hard. It hurts.

You close your eyes, and it feels like you're sinking into an endless black ocean.

You open your eyes, gasp for air. There's a reason this feels different. There has to be. You have to figure this out.

You fight against the gravitational pull of your limbs, and your feet finally touch the floor. It feels like a moon landing.

_You shouldn't be here._

But you are.

You reach for something to hold on, and hold tight. You ease yourself to your feet. But how do you get where you want to go?

You squeeze your eyes half closed, and try to find the door in the swirl of colors and light. You see a swatch of area drenched in the same neon yellow color as before.

You catch what looks like a door frame and your heart leaps in your chest.

You turn your body to face the dark arc, it feels like pushing through molasses. You open your eyes fully, hoping they have finally adjusted, and find yourself staring at a familiar face.

You would flinch, if it wasn't so hard to move. You decide to study its features. Black hair pulled up in a knot in the top of your head, stubble barely growing in around your jawline, vacant brown eyes staring back at you. It's a familiar face, sort of.

You wonder if it's yours. You think about this face smirking, and the corner of the mouth curls up just as you imagine it would. So it must be yours, sort of. A mirror. It's a mirror. You were really scared there for a second.

You decide it's time to find an actual door. You gather up all of your strength and begin to turn away from the blank expression in the mirror. You watch your reflection turn away from you and something unlocks.

They're leaving you behind.

_Don't leave me here!  
_

You scream but there's no sound.

You can't let them leave you behind again.

You whip around to face the mirror again. The edges shudder with static, searing cracks that burn into your retinas.

_DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!_

The color drains from the room and collects in dark puddles on the floor, midnight red. Your fingertips are wet again.

The face in the mirror stares back, still, unblinking.

You can't let this happen again. They won't leave you behind.

A delicate, pale hand reaches from outside the frame and places a hand on your shoulder in the mirror. You watch her black nails dig in deep, you feel sharp pricks in your palm. You try to relax your hand but your fingers are like blazing steel rods, immovable.

She finally steps into view behind your reflection. Veiled in black silks, stunning, terrifying. Just like you remember her.

_Now this is a surprise. I thought I had taken care of all the pieces of you left behind. But I guess I missed a spot. Have you enjoyed the show?_

She stares back at you, like a spirit from a dark place beyond. It wasn't fair. You know it wasn't fair.

_None of this was ever fair, I'm afraid. He ruined everything, and it's my job to make him suffer for what he did._

You hold your breath and will your fingers to unclench.

_I don't know how much you remember, but he destroyed us. He made us like this. And I'm the only one strong enough to give him the reckoning he deserves._

You reach for the pen. It must be here somewhere.

_We have important things to do, and I'm afraid you're too far gone to be more than a regret. A distraction for my brother whose heart is too big for our body._

You feel the gel grip, take hold and begin to write. Your name, and the two letters you forgot before but remember now. How could you forget all those years?

_I'm afraid that needs to stop now. You need to go back._

You won't let him leave you behind. You gouge the letters deeply, running over the lines. He will remember.

_Go back now._

Her fingertips leave your reflection's shoulder and curl into a fist. Blood drips from her clenched fingers. You write, you hold on.

_You need to go back._

She pulls back her arm, and sends her fist flying. The glass shatters, and you're bleeding again.

_Go back! Now!_

The void pulls everything apart. You try to remember his name, but there's too much space, too much space.

_Why are you making this so difficult!_

It's too much. You let go.

~

Damien opens his eyes and stares back at the screen.

He must have gotten distracted again, he doesn't remember the last paragraph. What else is new? He sighs and clicks “Next Chapter”


	10. All and Sundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does it hurt to know he forgot you? You shouldn't take it personally.

~

Damien blinks his eyes again. The text swims in front of his face. He can't remember how long he's been in-between like this. Sometimes coming into the body is hard, like fighting a riptide. The pull of sleep, the pull of the house is so strong. He blinks again and moves his fingers. _Stay here._

Damien is sitting at his desk, reading something on his laptop. A notepad sits beside it, with notes in Celine's handwriting. Points and chapters for him to read. Damien rubs his eyes with his hands. Guess he should stop being so distracted.

What the hell was he reading? He scrolls back to the top of the page. “Becoming a YouTube Millionaire by YouTube Billionaire Markiplier.” Damien can faintly remember the droning egotism.

He returns to the text and makes it through a few more chapters, but to say that Mark's manifesto is grating is the understatement of the century. He looks back over to Celine's angled handwriting in the notebook.

What had he been doing before this? Damien looks up at the wall across from him, almost entirely covered in yellow post-it notes. It reminds him of his last note he left Celine. The thought of that night still makes him feel sick, let alone the idea that it could happen again. If the world didn't feel so distant, Damien is sure he'd be angry. They need to talk about it. Had she replied?

Damien decides to search to see if can find where the note ended up. Celine should have found it, he left it on the top sheet of the newest set of sticky notes to make sure she saw it. An quick inspection of the rest of the desk comes up empty.

Damien looks over the notes on the wall. Perhaps he had missed it in the mess of their scribbling dialogues taking over the entire back corner. Reading each one carefully, there's no sign of his note. Did she ignore it completely? Perhaps she left a message on the whiteboard.

He steps back over the desk. The red and blue markers rattle in the pen holder as he approaches. There is no large note in red waiting for him. But he does notice a red slash through “Laundry”, a chore on his side of the board, with a small note reading “you're welcome.” Celine did the laundry?

It was strange to say the least. Celine hated doing the laundry. Was she doing the laundry to apologize? That's just the sort of thing she used to do when they were younger, do one little nice thing to apologize for a huge problem. And he always fell for it.

Or... Damien hurriedly pushes up his sleeves. Nothing but old bandages. So it was an apology, or at least Celine's version of one. Damien crosses to the bed. The sheets look fresh. He flops down and takes a deep inhale. Definitely fresh laundry.

She even made the bed. She hates that. Damien smiles, thinking back to when their mom would check their beds as kids, and Celine would always forget a step. Damien can't resist pulling back the quilt to check Celine's handiwork.

She forgot the flat sheet. He hopes Celine is watching, it's shame she isn't around for him to tease in person.

It was a sweet gesture for Celine to do the laundry, especially with how much she hates it. It's not enough to make up for it, but it's hard for Damien to hold on the betrayal. He never could hold grudges like his sister did. Damien gets up from the bed and goes to find the missing sheet.

The laundry room is messier than usual, obviously Celine's work. Bottles of detergent and fabric softener rest precariously on the top of the washing machine, next to a canister of....is that hairspray? Damien spins the can around, it is. Huh.

Damien shrugs and opens the dryer to find the bed sheet tangled up with a bunch of other laundry, mostly Celine's things. He pulls the whole knotted mess into a laundry basket and detangles the sheet.

Damien leaves the other laundry behind and carries the sheet back to the bedroom. He pulls the rest of the bedding off the bed and unfurls the sheet across the mattress. He leans over to smooth the wrinkles out. His hand passes over a fold, and Damien glimpses a pale shadow of a stain. Doesn't Celine know that the dryer will set it?

It looks like black pen. Damien can't remember it, so it must have been Celine. Though the stain is mostly gone, the echo of the writing remains and Damien looks closer.

“DA.” District Attorney. The words hit him like a train. A door cracks open, creaking in protest.

It all comes back, memories playing back all at once.

You sitting across the table from him in the law school library.

You struggling to stand outside your apartment as he helped you get to bed.

You pushing away his credit card at the counter. Breakup ice cream was always on you.

Your hands on his as he cried, saying he wasn't good enough.

His hands on yours as you cried, saying you couldn't take it anymore.

You pulling him into the Dean's office to report his advisor's insensitive comments.

You smiling at him across the room at the night of his election, raising a glass.

You showing him the lettering on the window of your new office. Together again, his life exactly as it should be.

How could he forget you?


	11. It's Our Only Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game has been fun. But you more than anyone know the ending has been decided. Does that make it easier to bare?

~

Damien feels the warmness of the world fade to the familiar chill of the house inside. His eyes flash open.

“Celine!”

He jumps out of his bed and barrels toward the door. He pushes the door open; it collides with the wall like a crash of thunder. A chill rushes up Damien's spine at the sound.

Celine sits motionless on an armchair in the middle of the main room, a book open in her lap.

Damien says your name.

Celine doesn't react, simply tracing a line on the page.

Damien crosses the room as if it was a courtroom back in his prime, “Where are they?”

“You remembered.” Celine's voice is dull, almost bored.

“I remember them, and I remember that night too.”

Celine is quiet, eyes still on the book.

“I know we're sharing their body, not mine, so where are they?”

Damien waits, but Celine continues reading. _She'll never care._

Damien yanks the book from Celine and moves to set it down on the coffee table. However he pauses. _Don't you want her to take you seriously?_

Panic rises, burning in his chest. Damien throws the book across the room. It clatters into the pile of armor.

Celine finally looks up. “This is why I kept it from you. You're upset.”

“If you put our souls into their body, their soul should be around here somewhere.”

Damien blinks and the book is back in Celine's hands. The spine of the book reads _Duress, Threat, and Coercion._ She places it beside her on the armchair. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“They're my best friend, I think I have a right to know.”

“When I moved our souls into this body, they couldn't survive the transition. The shock was too much.”

“What does that even mean Celine?”

“Living as many souls in one body is not easy,” Celine glances over her fingernails, inspecting the flawless black polish, “Some of us are strong enough to endure it, and others aren't. You couldn't be in the body without having a panic attack for months.”

“I don't remember that.”

“Yet another painful memory I keep safe for you.”

“You're not answering my question, where are they?”

“They died.”

Damien's stomach drops, “What?”

“This is why I didn't tell you.”

Damien catches something in Celine's eyes. “Then why was their name on our sheets?”

“I wrote it by accident a few months ago, I was going to contact their family.” Celine stands up and pushes past Damien.

Damien spins around and follows Celine to the center of the room, “It wasn't your handwriting.”

“It was hard using the body at the start. You'd remember that too if you hadn't been so gone.”

“It was their handwriting.”

“Just a habit from the body,” Celine begins climbing the spiral staircase.

Damien follows. “Why didn't I notice it before?”

“You're very forgetful nowadays,” Celine looks over her shoulder, twisting her voice higher as if talking to a child, “Don't you remember?”

“You're lying to me.”

“Why would I lie about this?”

“Because they're not dead. They're still here.”

“You just don't want to believe they're gone.”

“They wrote me a message and you tried to hide it from me.”

Celine pauses on the steps and turns back to Damien. “I'm keeping you safe.”

“Celine, I'm sick of the secrets. They tore us apart once, and it's going to ruin us again.”

Celine is silent, knuckles white as she grips the railing.

“Don't you remember?” Damien can't help the words, as much as he tries to stay quiet, “Or is that a memory only I have now?”

“There are things we need to do, and I won't let you get in my way.”

“You're going to kill us.”

“Oh, **I'm** going to kill us?” Celine steps back down towards Damien

Her intensity makes Damien scramble backwards down the stairs ahead of her. “Celine.”

“We would be dead in Mark's mansion if it weren't for me.”

“Celine that's not what I mean.”

“No, you couldn't handle being in the body so much, that you almost got us admitted into a psych ward.”

“What?” Damien reaches the bottom of the stairs and keeps backing up.

“I was the one who kept us away from Mark, started a new life, got us a job.” Celine takes the final step, the impact shaking the floorboards, “I was you when you couldn't be.”

“But what are we doing?” Damien backs into an armchair and the pain blazes up his spine stronger than it should.

“We're going to destroy Mark.”

“You're going to destroy us.” Damien winces, gripping the armchair for support.

“I have it under control.” Celine's shadow begins growing, almost smoking at the edges.

“That woman is dangerous.”

“That's why we need her.”

“You didn't even think of asking me first?”

“I knew you would say no, so I saved us the trouble.”

“What if I had woken up in the body in the middle of it all?”

“I wouldn't let you.” The light in room begins to dim, swallowed up by Celine's shadow as it spreads across the floor.

“If we're sharing this body, I think I should have a say in what we do with it.”

“You do have a say. But some things are more important.”

Damien notices something in her eyes. “You like her.”

“We need her, that's all.”

“No, you want her.”

“It was the only way.”

“I think there were other ways to gain her trust without using yourself, using us, like that.”

“I'm the one who has to live with this body, I'm the one who keeps us alive,” A shadow creeps up the side of Celine's face, as if cast by a spinning light. “I'm going to use us however I need to use us.”

Behind Celine, a wicked smile leans into view. A figure coalesces in the smoke, a terrible grin he would never forget. It's Mark's face.

“Celine,” Damien chokes.

“No, you be quiet,” Celine snarls.

Mark puts his index finger to his lips, still smiling. Smoke billows out of his finger like a cigarette. _Let the lady speak._

“I don't think you have the right to an opinion until you can handle being a living person again.”

Damien watches the smoke creature with Mark's face twist his neck impossibly, as if it was boneless. _She has a point._

That voice. It's Mark's isn't it?

_She only hears me if I want her to. I wouldn't want to interrupt._

Celine clenches her fists and the lights begin to flicker and shake. “I've had to live a life for you, a horrible, useless life in a empty shell. All you're good for is forcing us to wear this face.”

Mark grabs Celine's chin with his fingertips. Celine doesn't seem to notice. _Such attachment to a body._

Mark begins to move his hand back and forth slowly. Celine's head shifts to follow his motions. _I simply can't relate._

“You can't even pull your weight when we're same exact person,” Celine continues, “I have to do everything myself.”

 _She thinks she's in control._ Mark smiles even wider. _Isn't it amusing?_

“I'm done with trying to make you play along. I'm done, Damien. From now on, you don't have the right to be in the body until you understand what we have to do.”

_What an excellent idea Celine. It's almost like you came up with it yourself._

“Please,” Damien's voice is barely audible.

Celine extends her arm towards Damien. “That night, it changed me. And now I have powers beyond your imagination.” A tendril of shadow swirls up her body and forms a spinning column around her wrist.

Mark presses close to Celine, as if whispering in her ear, but the words swirl in Damien's head instead. _By association, my dear._

“You're going to stay here until I decide you're ready to leave.”

Mark steps through Celine's body and stands face to face with Damien. _How about I convince you stay inside instead?_

“Please Celine, don't do this.”

Mark runs a finger down Celine's extended arm. _It hurts her when you fight back._ The air splinters around his finger, midnight shards of energy following his touch like sparks. _I'll make it hurt her if you fight back._

Celine inhales sharply, her hand trembles. “Stay here.”

Mark grabs Celine's shoulder, her arm shudders but she holds firm. _It's up to you to decide how much she suffers._

“I'm doing this to save you.” Celine grits her teeth against the tears brimming in her eyes.

_She put up a good fight, but it doesn't matter when the ending is decided. That goes for you too._

Damien watches Celine's face twist in pain. He's lost her again.

Mark cocks his head to the side, studying Damien's expression. _Should we let her up for air?_

The world warps around Damien and suddenly becomes clear. He's standing ankle deep in a swimming pool. Mark sits on the edge of the water, balancing his feet on an inflatable raft in the shape of a swan. _What do you think?_

A muffled scream and an explosion of bubbles break the surface. Damien looks down. He's holding his sister's head underwater, hand tangled in her hair. Celine kicks and struggles against him.

_Or should we let her suffer?_

Damien lets go. Celine doesn't surface. Instead, her body sinks, motionless, into the depths.

Damien drops to one knee. The pool disappears to reveal the floor of the house inside. Celine stands across from Damien.

Mark's hand is a swirl of smoke around Celine's neck. _All the way, be a good brother._

Celine shakes, her arm still extended, a tear running down her cheek.

Damien eases down onto his knees, staring up at Celine.

Celine drops her arm and exhales. “That will seal you here.” Damien tries to speak but he chokes without air.

“I'm doing this for you,” Celine steps past Damien. Her footsteps echo and then fade away.

Once the sound has completely faded, the breath returns to Damien's lungs. He looks back and finds nothing but the scattered pile of armor and an empty wall. Damien turns back to find Mark standing over him, head cocked, still smiling.

“I thought you loved her," Damien breathes.

“What made you think that?” Mark replies.

“You married her for god's sake,” Damien buries his head in his hands.

“Would it be easier if didn't look like him?”

Damien looks up and finds himself face to face with his adviser from law school. Damien inhales sharply. His adviser was just as he looked all those years ago, scowling, crows feet so sharp they could cut glass.

“Law firms don't hire fags,” he sneers.

It's exactly the moment Damien has played over in his head thousands of times, but this time, it feels as real as the first time.

“I suggest you take a leave to get your perversion resolved,” his adviser continues.

"Go to hell," Damien replies, voice shaking.

The face of his adviser distorts, twisting and expanding until Damien is face to face with Mark again. “Looking like your friend is a simple convenience.”

“Who are you?”

Mark crouches down, bringing his face so close that Damien should be able to feel Mark's breath, if he was breathing at all. “The best deceit murders the truth,” Mark's eye sockets begin to rot and decay, the corners of his mouth stretching and tearing. “Luckily for me, the truth died a long time ago.”

Damien screams, covering his eyes and curling into a ball. “No no no no no please...”

Mark just laughs, voice echoing within Damien's mind again. _You don't have much time yourself, so I would consider saying your goodbyes._

Somewhere a door closes with a click, and Damien is left alone, panting. He stays there for what feels like hours, breathing heavy. When Damien finally has the strength, he opens his eyes and considers the room again. A faint, flickering glow shines on the two canvas propped against the wall. Damien follows the light and sees a door, cracked open to let a beam of fragile light through. “Chief Prosecutor” is engraved in black on the frosted glass.

Damien struggles to his feet, holding onto the armchair to keep balance. Very carefully, he makes his way over the door. He passes the coffee table in the center of the room. Damien pauses to consider the wreath of pine, roses, and tiny white flowers. The four candles have melted together, the black wax drowning the stubs of the red and gray candles. The blue candle is crooked, the pool of black wax melting it from the inside out.

Damien continues and finds himself at the door. He thinks about knocking, but you already know he's there. He nudges the door open, it creaks and protests.

~

You're nothing how he remembers you. You can see that in his expression, though you don't meet his eyes. Your eyes are transfixed, as they have been for as long as you can remember, on the flickering images projected onto the wall across from your desk. Your eyes are shrouded in smoke like a specter of a blindfold, eyes clouded in white.

It's been so long since the shadow began consuming the edges of your vision, but you assume that your office is as it was before. Your notes covering the wall behind you outlining all the people of interest, their quirks and histories. The lists detailing every secret uncovered from hours of investigation. Your desk, once neat, cluttered with frantic piles of theories and plans. You haven't been able to extend a hand to brush the dust away.

Damien says your name. Perhaps you smile, it's hard to tell.

“I'm sorry it took me so long.”

He was on time. You didn't know it until now, but this was always the moment.

“Are you...”

An arc of light splinters across your vision, you flinch.

“You're not okay.” You can feel Damien's hand on yours, “I'm so sorry. If I hadn't invited you, then...” Damien trails off.

You can just manage to squeeze his fingers gently. Do you?

“There's nothing I can do, is there?”

Once it's been designed, it must be done. You know that. Someone must live it. This time it's your turn.

Damien quietly sobs. Tears brush past the back of your hand occasionally, like gentle rain. You hold his hand tight, since there's not much else you can do. You continue to follow the thread, the end of the tail almost in sight.


	12. You Just Keep Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know who I am, so why fight it? Don't you find it as enjoyable as I do to watch? I don't think we're so different.
> 
> See Chapter Notes for a note from the author.

From that moment on, the days, weeks, and months begin to blur together. You and Damien try to keep each other company inside, but staying awake is harder and harder. The house loses detail and color, and the passage of time is all at once random and languid.

Damien wonders if this is what dying feels like. Neither of you can remember. You try to hold on to each other. The line between the two of you blurs as the world fades, but it still feels lonely.

Damien's time in the body is scattered, with the ever present chill of Celine and Mark's shadow waiting at the back of his mind. In one of your last moments of lucidity, you and Damien push forward together into the body and just manage to send a message to Amy. If the lie of moving to a new town isn't convincing, Damien will never see Amy's frantic pleas to get back in touch.

Celine uses her time in the body to spend more time with Iris. The pink tyrant is crueler than any of you ever dreamed, but Celine has fallen under her spell. Mark's shadow seems to think it's useful enough to be under her thumb, or else has other plans.

As Celine and Mark's shadow gain greater control over the body and the mind, the powers Celine exercised while inside begin to creep into the waking world. Slowly but surely, Celine can manipulate light, space, and time to suit Mark's whims.

Though Mark's shadow keeps a tight rein, being a quagmire of souls makes it hard to stay stable. While the reports they submit at the office are now focused and on-time, angry outbursts and a variety of verbal and physical tics become impossible to hide. With the pressure of the company and the encouragement of Iris, Celine quits and moves in with Iris instead.

It feels like a life sentence, but you don't remember it ending this way.

~

Celine reaches forward to place her empty glass on the low table. She misses the edge and the glass tumbles onto the carpet.

“Looks like someone's having trouble,” Iris retrieves the glass and places it among the massive collection of empty bottles and glasses on the table. The glass reflects the colored lights of the nightclub as they spin and flash.

Celine thinks about apologizing, but can't find the words. Iris pulls Celine closer, guiding Celine's head to rest on her shoulder. Celine tries to keep her eyes open and ground herself in the body, but everything is spinning. Iris plays with Celine's hair.

“Baby girl,” Iris croons in Celine's ear, “Can you do a favor for me?”

“What is it?” Celine's words are slippery, crashing against each other like the ice cubes melting in the glasses on the table.

“It's time to get back at Mark.”

“Mhm?”

Iris pulls Celine to her feet, and supports her as they cross the club. “We're going to get Mark canceled, remember?”

“Yeah,” The lights strobe, and Celine closes her eyes, letting Iris lead her forward.

“We're ready for step one.” Iris takes Celine through a door into a private room, where several men in suits sit on couches drinking champagne. Smoke is thick in the air. Someone in a hoodie leans against the back wall, scrolling through their phone.

“Mark has been having lots of success, ” Iris guides Celine to an empty spot on a couch between two men. The man sitting to her left loosens his tie.

“We're going to stage some behind the scenes shots of how his business deals get made.” The person in the hoodie steps forward, extending their phone to line up a shot with the camera.

“You look so much like our Markimoo,” Iris' rests her hands on Celine's shoulders, “I think the media would go crazy.”

“Oh.”

“This won't get him canceled, but I just love the thought of his fans freaking out,” Iris' digs her fingernails into Celine's shoulders, the pain is blurry and distant. “And leaving the public with a sour taste? It's the perfect backdrop for the steps to come.”

“Take care of this, would you?” Iris runs a hand down Celine's cheek, and without another word, turns and walks away. One of the men in the suits slouches off his jacket and lays it down on the couch.

Celine watches as Iris leaves, shutting the door behind her. Celine turns back and closes her eyes.

_Why don't we let Damien take care of this?_

“What?” Celine breathes.

_He has experience doesn't he? I'm sure he won't mind._

"No."

~

Damien is pushed into the body, and as is often these days, you are brought along. You barely have time to absorb the situation, the static-y warmth of the alcohol your veins and the sensation of a hand on your shoulder before Damien connects the dots. Damien immediately pushes you out of the body, so far back into the subconscious that your projection screen is completely blank.

–

Damien stares at a light, watching it strobe and melt between colors. He wrings a towel in his hands. Iris sits beside him, cooing encouragement, but the words go in one ear and out the other.

Celine is starting to bleed through. Damien focuses on keeping you out of the body.

“Baby let me fix your eyeliner,” Iris takes the towel from Damien and wipes his face.

Damien doesn't move.

“Baby,” Iris sighs, picking up a champagne bucket from the floor. “Are you going to be sick again?”

Over the music, Damien hears a piercing scream.

Iris sets the bucket back down, “What was that?”

The bass is punctuated by a barrage of gunshots and a chorus of screams. Damien continues watching the lights.

“Holy shit, is this really happening right now?” Iris pulls at Damien's arm, but he doesn't move.

The gunshots get closer; the lights swell and shift.

“Baby, we have to get out of here.”

What's the point? Damien can feel the corner of his lip curling in a lopsided smile.

Iris tugs on Damien once more, but he is fixed in place.

“You're crazy!” Iris makes a break for it, a momentary pink blur in his vision.

As if in a dream, he can hear her voice from across the room. “Wait, I didn't see anything I swear, I'll pay--”

Another gunshot.

The club grows still, music still pounding, but no other sound. Damien continues to stare numbly at the shifting light.

Firm footsteps and heavy breathing approach. “Damien?”

Damien looks up to see a face he had almost forgotten. “William?”

His mustache is going gray at the edges... is that gray? The lights are casting a frenetic kaleidoscope across his features, but it's the same face. William's eyes waver, no longer the inescapable gaze of a general but the uncertain look of a man lost at sea.

Damien can feel his heart racing, though he can't tell whether it's from his distant affections or Celine's burning spite.

“Oh there you are Damien, I've been looking all over for you.”

“I...”

“How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Damien glances beyond William's shoulder. A wake of bodies is book-ended with a haphazard pile of pink. _Gone._

“It was an accident,” William blurts.

“Thank you.”

“Ah, what?”

“Thanks.”

“Well, of course, what else are friends for?”

“I never thought I'd see you again.”

William's expression changes. “You haven't seen Celine around anywhere have you? You know... if I can avoid her, I'd rather-”

“She's sleeping.” Damien squints one eye tight, trying to stay on the surface.

“Oh good, great,” William stammers, “Alright well anyway, I'm glad I found you, I've got a great new idea.”

Damien struggles to his feet, but he's unsteady. William catches Damien's arm.

“We're going to make a TV show!” William's face lights up with excitement. He extends his free hand and shakes it vigorously, in a one sided but still very enthusiastic show of jazz hands.

Celine and Mark's shadow are clawing their way into the body. This is our best chance.

“Okay,” Damien breathes.

~

William brings you along on his chaotic, eternal run from the law. With all three of you torn to pieces from all the pain, all the loss, from each other, from Iris, Mark's shadow takes the opportunity to gain near total control. Now you are not four souls melting together but a single broiling mess of a being. You know what this means and Mark's shadow takes the name you've known was theirs before this all began. Dark.

With Dark in control, the powers of the body are the strongest they've ever been. Together with William, it seems like whatever Dark desires could be within reach. The damage begins, and you can barely follow the wreckage left in the wake.

In what feels like eons, you catch a glimpse of yourself sitting across from the body at table, a you before this all happened. Or is it after? It's been so long since you've seen your face, your real face, it's like seeing a ghost. You try to break through Dark's hold on the body for one second, so you can...

You're not sure what you would say, you're not sure what you would do. Is there even anything you could do to stop this?

You do your best to chip away at the body's composure, but Dark has a vice grip on the body and their otherworldly powers.

The same scenes, over and over. You're always there. And you're always watching.

You can never do the right thing, and you don’t understand why, so you just keep trying.

You hold on to the hope that maybe, in a moment of clarity, you'll break through.

Is this it?

_Well, is it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: If I could interrupt for a moment, I'd like to thank you for reading, it means so much to be able to share this story with you! I've really enjoyed writing this fic and I hope you've enjoyed following along. :)


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